


Relinquished

by bloody_empress24



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Jazz - Freeform, Jazz Bar, Librarian - Freeform, M/M, Other, Rivalry, Secrets, Slow Burn, alter ego, more tags to follow soon maybe, project protect ignis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-02-10 13:54:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12913290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloody_empress24/pseuds/bloody_empress24
Summary: A/N: When Chief Librarian Ignis Scientia hides the fact that he's an incredibly talented artistwho secretly performs in a secluded jazz bar uptown and gets caught up in the Citadel's (and soon Insomnia's)delicious hall of fame, gossip and love triangles (or squares?).





	1. Gentlemen Aren't Nice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NikkiTe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikkiTe/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Librarian and the Performer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings!  
> I haven't written in a long, long while and I've always wanted to squeeze this plot bunny out of my system. This is dedicated to every writer of the GladNis/Fleurentia ship who are always persevering for each blessed chapter of their work. I love all of your works (and I still promised fanart for most of them lol--but I'll get there soon.) 
> 
> Thank you for always inspiring me NikkiTe, keep up the good writing and sketches! Thanks for contributing to some of this fic's terms and names.
> 
> Enjoy reading!

 

            It was a pleasant day.

            Or so Ignis thought.

            He caught sight of the towering figure of a certain Gladiolus Amicitia walking up to his desk in long, powerful strides. Ignis Scientia sighed and put down the _History of Archiving Methods_ he had been reading, careful to slide in the bookmark on the page he had left. His nose crinkled at the onslaught of his expensive aftershave as Gladio neared and smacked his hand on top of his table.

            “Scientia!”

            “What is it this time, Mr. Amicitia—“ Ignis calmly greeted back. He could see the bulk of Gladio’s torso in his direct line of sight heaving as he tried to formulate words to whatever bullocks he’d try to rile Ignis up for. Again.

            And to think the big guy was not even of his department.

            “Did you mess up Noct’s schedule again?” came the gruff reply. Ignis tried not to look too annoyed by his tone of voice at him. Inasmuch as the bespectacled young man disliked stereotyping people, however, he found Gladiolus to liven up to the cliché, intimidating, dominant big-man-on-campus who always got what he wanted perfectly and inexorably. It did not help that he was an Amicitia noble either. Ignis stared up at him, hands clasped primly on top of his desk. “Messing it up is not the term I’d prefer—“

            “His training with me is supposed to start! I’ve been waitin’ for over thirty minutes for him and he’s not even around—“

            “The Director Caelum wanted an audience with Noctis, Gladiolus,” Ignis cut him off smoothly. “Who am I to deny him, then? And I believe I left you a memo in your email _four hours ago_ which, I think, you did not bother to look at—“ Ignis paused, a half-smirk forming in his lips. “Again.”

             Gladiolus was staring down at him like he was doused in cold water. He adjusted his stance to another leg. Ignis knew it was a sign of alarm and uncertainty (but it’s mostly guilt, definitely). It was a habit he had long observed on the head of the Sports Science Department. Too bad Gladio himself didn’t even know he had it. He contented himself with a rough grunt instead as his cheeks flushed pink at Ignis’ words. “Tch! A text would have been fine, you know!” And out he went out of the office, grumbling all the way. Ignis flipped open his book once again, satisfied at the short encounter. His office assistant named Monica who was about to enter with a stack of new reports, scrunched her eyebrows in mild curiosity as the Amicitia stomped past her. Once out of earshot, she said, “Looks like you irritated Mr. Amicitia again this week, Sir.” She piled the folders neatly on top of Ignis’ mahogany desk. The ashen-blond young man smirked conspiratorially as he readjusted his spectacles. “It is already but Friday, Monica. I’m pretty certain that was a tad poorer compared to last week’s.”

              Monica chuckled appreciatively at the statement. Indeed, for the last year and a half she had been working under her new boss, Ignis, she had witnessed those two butting heads for how many times over whatever matter they could get their hands on. She was not sure who started it first, but everyone on campus knew Gladiolus and Ignis were like oil and water—and would not mix. Ever.

              Of course, she could be wrong eventually. Ignis Scientia was a very understanding and decent young man; albeit quite a mysterious one, if she might add. He did take care of his private life seriously—and was quite devoid of any drama nor gossip—as compared to the walking flirting hunk of the Sports Sciences that was Gladiolus Amicitia.

              That man was a big icon on campus—and everyone who’s in and out of the grapevine knew of his talented exploits, no matter how raunchy or innocent that could have been. Everyone fought tooth and nail to get any of his training classes. Since he was the head, he took less teaching loads. Gladiolus had the option to just stay behind a desk managing papers and department logistics, but getting rusty physically was out of the question. According to him, if you got the bod, flaunt it, train it, and preserve it. Heck, if he would, he could even outshine the Lucis Caelums from the top juiciest gossips of Insomnia social life. The Caelums were the top of the metaphorical food chain of society, comprising only almost 2% of Insomnia’s population and they were the ones who owned the Citadel. Go figure. Gladiolus had been working far longer in the Citadel than Monica or Ignis had, so his existence was far appreciated and liked than the newest stuck-up, chief librarian of the formerly mismanaged Citadel Library, Records and Archives.

              Oh, it had been hell before. Despite being one of the top universities in the city of Insomnia, the Citadel, who prided itself in its state-of-the-art technology, wide array of courses and competent teachers, had an incredibly sorry state of archiving and records management under one Ardyn Izunia for how many years prior. Until the slimy excuse for a librarian with the horrible fashion sense (as Ignis would prefer to call his predecessor) got transferred to Niflheim U, the Citadel Library was by no means just a dump of dusty old tomes which still used the blasted Dewey Decimal System for an insanely vast collection. Therefore, everyone else took to using the online computer rooms on the Sciences building for research and homework instead of coughing soot balls (and the occasional tumbleweed) trying to find decent articles for their dissertations and review for related literature.

              It took Ignis a painstaking year to make the overhaul. His department had been the least prioritized out of everyone else’s and it made his teeth grit uncomfortably every time he justified (or somehow pleaded) the sorry state of affairs the Citadel Library and Records had. Ignis got the approved budget and manpower in due course (he had to scare a few wrinkly board members with his icy green stare for a few meetings for it) and improved the place up to par with the reputation the famed Citadel had.

              So what was the deal with him and the Sports Sciences Head?

              Ignis Scientia, with his leadership success, earned the trust of the Director Regis Lucis Caelum and had implored him to be his son’s minder on top of his library duties. It was just a simple job, to be frank: teaching his son Noctis to manage his gods-awful scheduling and priorities. Much to Ignis’ disappointment and dismay, however, he never expected to take in one, spoiled brat who preferred sleeping instead of reading his reminders; thus there were times he had to manually change the Citadel heir’s schedule of the day by himself without warning. And at that time, Ignis had no idea that Gladiolus was part of the priority circle of Noctis’ contact persons he had needed to inform.

              Needless to say, the behemoth of a man from the Sports Sciences had cornered him in the library during one of this rounds at the library circulation asking why he never even bothered to notify him of the schedule changes. Ignis was taken aback by his sudden confrontation, and he argued that Noctis would have informed Gladiolus personally since he was not specified namely in the schedule description. Gladio got angry at him for blaming Noctis for Ignis’ shortcomings and it irritated the bespectacled man. Ignis was certain he had been doing his job without sticking his nose too much into his charge’s private business. He took it in his stride nonetheless, apologized, and waited for the long-haired man to finish his spiel before stomping out of the library. That was a pretty humiliating scenario. And adding to the quietness of the library, everyone who was there heard of the embarrassing exchange.

              Later in the day, though, Noctis rang Ignis and said sorry many times about Gladio’s behaviour at him and that he forgot to call him about his training sessions. Saying it was such a bad way to make first impressions since they haven’t been formally introduced yet. Ignis patiently heard him out and assured Noctis that no harm had been done; although he was still inwardly fuming at how dominant Gladio made himself to look down on Ignis. His deep, baritone voice did little to quell his nerves during the confrontation and if Ignis were not patient enough, he would have lashed back. He did ask of Gladio’s contact details from Noctis after though, just so he could avoid making the same mistake again.

               But it did happen. Many times. And Gladiolus always seemed to find ways to somehow twist the situation to his favor, much to Ignis’ chagrin.

               For someone who was an attention-magnet on campus, he seemed quite forgetful about his emails. Well, he did have his department secretary for that, but Ignis could only nitpick about the efficacy of that secretary if she hadn’t been too busy mooning over her boss’ good looks. What a mess.

               Ignis thought that these little scheduling mishaps were the only problems he had to face with the famous, sought-after heart-throb on campus, but no—those were only the tip of the iceberg. And his patience was beginning to get challenged (and in danger of wearing thin).

               But his opening eventually came and Ignis gloated at the chance.

               Who knew that chunk of mass would be a sordid fan of cheap gil erotica novels?

               Okay, Ignis was better to judge other people’s tastes in books—and the Citadel Library had a wide range of varied acquisitions from children’s books to rare antiquities. Pocket novels and paperbacks were no stranger in the fiction shelves and the library had a many whole rows of shelves for it. However, when almost ten paperbacks had gone past their due date and some even marked as missing, they drove Ignis to the wall. More so when he got wind of who started it.

               Ignis could be described by the campus as stuck-up, know-it-all, but he prided himself as a gentleman. And instead of marching through the doors of the Sciences building, he sent that heavy-seed behemoth a memo. Quite a few in fact. Those he had his interns plaster on the science faculty bulletin board apart from the one he had sent directly to his worse-for-wear secretary:

 

_Mr Gladiolus Amicitia_

_Human Kinetics Program_

_Sports Sciences Department_  
  
_This memo is to express the management’s deep dissatisfaction towards your irresponsible library usage. The books listed below have been ignored of apt renewals and returns despite the management reminders. As per library policy, a member of the faculty is allowed to renew books up to two (2) times online via the Integrated Library System and a maximum of a 30-day loan period. Extension of period for borrowing of book(s) shall be done manually thereafter; which have been, also, ignored._

_There is a standing 31-day worth of book loan and a two-week delay on appropriate renewal procedures in your account._

_This is the first warning. Failure to comply with due process may result to revoking your library access in the near foreseeable future and a heavy fine. Kindly bring the books during Circulation hours for due processing and returns._

_Thank you and have a good day,_

_Ignis Scientia_

_Chief Librarian_

_Citadel Library, Records and Archives_

 

 

            There was an attached sheet wherein the glorious raunchy titles were printed all in bold letters. In alphabetical order, of course. One had to separate _Tits of Adventure_ from _The Blessed Bosom_ after all.

            Gladiolus was not amused.

            But at least the paperbacks got returned in record time.

            And after that little fiasco, everyone knew better not to mess with the ire of the Chief Librarian.

***

            Iris Amicitia, Gladio’s younger sister who was currently in her final year in Anthropology, was rolling on all fours on the office couch following that little debacle with the borrowed paperbacks. Of course it had to spread to the whole of Citadel in the span of half a day. Great. Gladiolus was staring up at her in a scowl behind the already scrunched up memo from Ignis-fucking-stuck-up-Scientia. “Don’t you have classes to go to, Iris?” he growled.

            Iris wiped a tear from her cheek and gulped lungsful of air. “Oh, Gladdy, this has got to be the most amazing thing I’ve ever witnessed this semester.” Her older brother bit the inside of his cheek as he waited for her to finish. “Your gig back at Freshmen Night did not even come close to this! He posted all the embarrassing titles of those cheesy romance novels you like! Looks like you found your match, you campus heartthrob!” Iris cackled, smacking her thigh. “I wanna meet the head librarian one time. They said he’s very young! Wonder if he’s as handsomely intimidating as the rumors say.”

            Gladiolus snorted. “Yeah, sure, humor yourself—wait handsome? Intimidating, hell yeah. But handsome? Whoever said that stuck-up librarian is handsome? Well—he’s definitely not from around here—sure—but handsome is exaggerating it a bit—“

            “Look Gladdy, the Citadel website does have photos of everyone working here, right? I checked it up and the head librarian does have a cool set of cheekbones,” Iris quipped at him, tapping on one of her cheeks. “Though I still need to see him IRL to be sure.” She took out her phone and scrolled through CitaLife, the in-campus social media platform. “I mean come on, Gladdy! Look at all these snaps of Ignis—they’re the bomb!” Gladio rolled his eyes as Iris waved her phone under his nose. _What’s up with the youngsters nowadays speaking in acronyms?_ He chucked the library note to a nearby bin and started to fix the untouched piles of documents on his already messy desk. “How come you haven’t even met that four-eyed vulture?” He squinted at the CitaLife photoroll with a sneer. The hashtags were hilarious, though. “He’s almost always prancing around doing shit—and these photos aren’t even clear. Why’re most of ‘em blurry? Only this promptography guy has a rather not shitty shot—and it’s mostly Scientia’s back—“

            “I would have seen him already if he did prance around campus. The Citadel is _huge_ , Gladdy,” Iris pouted at him. “My friends say he has an unpredictable rotation schedule up at the library. Plus it’s not easy to get an appointment with him. You have to go through like—three levels of assistants. And I have internship this semester. As if I can easily run into him.” Iris slipped her phone back inside her coat pocket. “Photos are blurry because the ones who try to take them are almost always caught by his icy glare. They say he has sixth sense or something—‘cause he suddenly moves without warning.”

            Gladiolus looked at her with raised eyebrows dripping with sarcasm. “Really, Iris. Sixth sense?”

            “Oh, hush, Gladdy, let the campus rumor mill enjoy their gossip,” Iris chuckled. “Don’t you have your own CitaLife? How’s that coming on? I haven’t seen you post your usual gym selfies for like a week. Your fans are _dying_ for updates, yanno.”

            Her brother grimaced at her. “Not my problem, Iris. I am still a department head with responsibilities. Now get out of my office. Or I’ll have Cor drag you to your next class.” Iris blew him a raspberry as she got her bag and left the room. Very mature. Gladio ran a hand through his hair. His sister could be a handful at times. But he couldn’t deny she got him curious. He never did look at that four-eyes properly. He was always scowling anyway. All that registered in his head was that the first time he had laid eyes on Ignis, he knew wouldn’t get along with this painfully prim nerd with a stick up his ass. 

Ignis Scientia took his post roughly a year and a half ago already—and he had already caused huge ripples in his social pond.

            Well, two can play this game, Scientia.

            Gladiolus decided to ditch the papers on his desk and booted up his desktop. He checked the Citadel administration database. If the campus grapevine had to classify him with the word ‘handsome’, then garulas could definitely fly, too. As he scrolled down the list of departments, he finally stumbled on the Library and Archives. Clicking the link he was redirected to another tab with a chart of the department staff. Ignis’ profile was on top, and he clicked the description.

            The photo looked more like a glorified mug shot than anything, Gladio had mused. But didn’t all of the faculty profiles look like shit anyway? Iris was right about the cheekbones, though. What a prick, always sporting a brushed up and spiked ‘do like it’ll hide his age—wait— _what the fuck_? He’s _younger_ than him? Gladio closed the tab, scoffing. He shouldn’t be wasting time being insecure about a measly rival. _Oh_. So he did acknowledge him as a rival? Ah, screw it.

            He still had to train Noctis in twenty minutes.

            He hoped his favorite punching bag was available later. He’s going to plaster it with printouts of Ignis’ face and punch it to kingdom come.

***

            Monica had finally clocked out, and Ignis was the only one left inside the office. With the improvement of his department manpower, the daily work had been distributed equally amongst all of them and Ignis was almost always left with little supervising to do. There were an acceptable amount of student volunteers as well. Although he did like the ridiculous amount of work he had been doing when he had first taken up the post, Ignis got antsy from doing nothing on his own. So at times he would request to be included in the random library rotations, checking out and loaning books to students and faculty alike. Or he would sometimes linger in the Archives with the Senior Archivist Kimya, training interns about preserving and revamping old tomes and documents. She was by far the only other colleague who was intensely comfortable with him; even though she speaks quite oddly and in riddles at times. She was nearing retirement, but they got along real swell over coffee and decaying old folios.

Ignis typed in the last few reminders on the calendar in his laptop. He had a few last-minute adjustments to do with Noctis’ schedule for the weekend; and he liked to finish things up ahead, so he could spare more time for unforeseeable emergencies and other personal endeavors.

            Endeavors, meaning, his other job at _The Chamberlain._

Don’t get him wrong—his salary as chief librarian was more than enough to give him a laid-back lifestyle and even purchase a car. Working there once or seldom twice a week was a stress outlet for him. And an act of love as well.

 _The Chamberlain_ was a secluded jazz restaurant and bar uptown to the north of Insomnia owned by a retired performer from Altissia named Weskham Armaugh, who had a penchant for collecting fine wines and classic vinyl records. He had put up _The Chamberlain_ in his own baroque home in Insomnia a year after his retirement from the music industry. With nothing much to do, he then took up the culinary arts as a past time and had been in business ever since.

            When young Ignis had moved from Tenebrae to Insomnia for college, he was then introduced to Armaugh by his uncle. “If you ever needed the extra gil for school, you can always approach my friend Weskham for a part-time job,” his uncle had said. “He’s a talented young man, Weskham. And he likes to cook, too!” Without further ado, Ignis got his own apron and was whisked off every weekend in between classes to sort out drinks and pastries at _The Chamberlain._

Ignis enjoyed his college years in the serenity and comfort of the jazz bar. It felt like home to him—good music, delicious wine and food, impeccably-dressed patrons—there was never a boring moment whenever he had worked there once or twice a week. He improved his dessert-making skills whilst being there, and because of his excellent work aptitude; Weskham could still spare time on stage with the usual performing band, _Kingsglaive,_ apart from supervising the liquor bar and kitchen.

            But that was a year ago.

            Right now, he was scheduled for a few performances when the bar opened for the night.

            Really, he was just a humble helper in the kitchens. Not a performer. He did not count himself a talented person. That was his mother back in Tenebrae. She was a theater actress—did ballet—taught her son to sing—performed a few recitals together, and dragged him as often as she could to the opera; however, she not once forced him to follow in her footsteps. Ignis loved books and studying as much as he liked _Les Miserables;_ and she left him to it. She died quite early, though, and Ignis only ever dabbled in music in the privacy of his home as a lesser hobby.

            He just did not expect it would come full circle when he moved into Insomnia.

 

 

 

It was a fond memory—that fateful night when the accident at _The Chamberlain_ happened; and Ignis would laugh at himself whenever he reminisced. It was during the winter break of his first year as Chief Librarian that Weskham was faced with a troubling crisis. The first few opening performances were nearing their close and Weskham was frantic about the next batch of musicians who were apparently snowed in along the highway to the bar. It would take them another hour to get through. There was not enough time; plus it was the usual special Friday performance night. There was a steady onrush of patrons and _The Chamberlain_ never closed early.

            Aranea Highwind, who was one of the newest performers hired and was just taking her water break, tapped Weskham’s arm and nodded towards the kitchens, “Hey, ain’t that glasses guy in the back a protégé of yours? Think he could sub onstage for a few minutes?”

            “Ignis? He’s not my protégé,” Weskham raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think my best patisserie chef can—“

            Aranea smirked and cocked her hip. “I ran into him during closing the other week. Caught him humming and singing Nyx’s performance of the _Lemon Tree_ while taking out the trash. I’d say he’s got a pretty good voice. What’d you say, Wesk? We can let him try and buy us time. You know I play a few instruments, too.” She wiggled her eyebrows conspiratorially up at him. “I can accompany the kid. This could be fun.”

            Weskham was confused for a moment. That was news to him. It was a good idea, to be frank; but he had no firsthand experience with Ignis’ singing at all. He had been working for him for so long, but then again he never caught Ignis in any sort of musical moment. The young man was quiet and preferred the mess of the kitchen. Although he did remember once or twice that Ignis mentioned his fondness for the choice of songs being played onstage, Weskham never gave it any thought.

            “Why don’t we ask him for help?” Aranea continued. “There’s no harm in trying. If not, we’re both doing more songs onstage anyway. So what d’you say? Biggs and Wedge are a few songs away from finishing so let’s not waste any more time.”

            Weskham nodded with a sigh. He just hoped Ignis wouldn’t be too troubled about it.

 

 

 

            “An intermission number?” Ignis stared perplexedly at the both of them, like they both grew an extra head. Why would they ask him to perform onstage?! What was going on?! He must have looked stupid—he was up to his elbows with flour—his long fingers frozen midway above the dough he was kneading for tomorrow’s batch of tarts. “You can’t be serious—“

            Aranea leaned confidently on the flour-free portion of the island counter where Ignis stood unmoving like an anak stuck in car headlights. “Weren’t you singing _Lemon Tree_ the other week?” The bespectacled young man deflated remarkably at her words. Weskham raised his eyebrows at the confirmation. “Overheard you at the back during closing time. You got a nice range, young man. You’ll help us, won’t you? Don’t make us beg.”

            Ignis’ green eyes flitted from Aranea to Weskham. He was at a loss for words. Weskham fingered the tip of his monocle and gave him a sheepish grin. “Aranea teaches music as her day job. She’s just as much as a great judge of talent as I am. We’re not forcing you, Ignis; however we’ll greatly appreciate all the help we can get tonight.”

            “Just one song, shortcake,” Aranea said. “ _One_ song. I’ll even play an instrument with you onstage.”

            Ignis could feel his heart straining against his ribcage so hard from the rapid beats. The request was overwhelming, but at the same time he missed the onrush of adrenaline when performing. When was the last time he last sang in public? Far too long ago. He could even vaguely remember how the crowded Tenebraean Opera House looked after he and his mother finished an intermission for the Sylleblossom festival. But he knew it was exhilarating.

            And the feelings were crashing back down on him in that small kitchen.

            His ears were ringing—it was suddenly so quiet. Ignis did not want to deny them help when he already had the skill for it; however—he did not want to disappoint Weskham either. It was just one song.

            “But the kitchens—“

            “I’m sure Taka and Coctura can take up a few more loads for you for a few minutes.”

His throat was suddenly dry. Ignis pondered again. Weskham was eyeing him hopefully. He took a deep breath.

            “If ever—I—err—if ever, might I perform under anonymity? I—“ Ignis started, tugging at this fingers. “—I wouldn’t want to garner any attention after this—“

            Weskham considered it. “I have a mask you could wear. Crowe might even have some temporary hair dye back in the dressing rooms. Will that help? Will you perform for us?” There was a glint in his eyes that Ignis rarely saw—and it gave him a satisfying push to his gut.

            Ignis exhaled. An unknown persona onstage would help him focus. Clenching his fists, he eyed Aranea with a dawning conviction.

            “Would you happen to know the keys to _Georgia on My Mind?”_

            Aranea broke into a triumphant grin. “You got yourself a pianist, Ignis! Come on, let’s get you prepped—“ and she dragged the ash-blond out the swinging doors before he could even thank Weskham.

            Just one song. Not like there would be a repeat performance.

            How very wrong he was.

 

 

 

            Weskham was pleasantly surprised with the turn of events. After Biggs and Wedge had retired their saxophones, he went up the platform and introduced the newest intermission. The crowd was as accommodating as always. Excited, even. He could hear a susurrus of curious whispers about the tall masked gent with the slicked-back pompadour conversing with Ms. Aranea near the grand piano. Weskham had only given them roughly twenty minutes to prepare. Ignis was naturally attractive underneath his glasses—and Crowe did a great job on him in under five minutes ( _Why are you hiding this gorgeous face under that frown? Loosen up a little! You’ll be fine!)_. The last few minutes were spent by Aranea to familiarize Ignis with their music. Borrowing one of Weskham’s old concert blazers, Ignis was decked out in dashing splendor. No one would even know it was the same stiff, bespectacled young man who was kneading cookie dough and decorating pastries back at the kitchens.

             He was presented under the name, _Helios_ * and Weskham had never been more delighted at the show that followed. 

           

            Ignis was like a different person once he got hold of the microphone. There was a certain air about him onstage that was just perfectly alluring—and every patron were caught in rapt attention at every line that was sung. _Where did he get his training?_ Weskham thought. That stance was as ramrod straight as a conductor and yet as graceful as the melody being played. It was as if he had been a performer all his life.

            As Aranea hit the last notes of the song and Ignis had finally bowed and left for the backstage in a shaky haste, many regulars confronted a surprised Weskham, surrounding him in a half-circle and clutching their half-finished cocktails.

            “Where did you find Helios, Armaugh?”

            “We want an encore! Why is he just an intermission?”

            “Helios is a pseudonym, isn’t it? I need a name, Weskham!”

            “Will he be performing again tomorrow night?”

            Weskham chuckled as he lifted a hand to silence his patrons. “He’s just a part-timer, my beloved patrons. I am still unsure of his schedule—“

            The clamor just grew and Weskham reminded himself that he would be cornering the kid after this. A very thorough interview was in order, Weskham smirked to himself.

 

 

           

            Back at the dressing rooms, Ignis was sitting at the edge of the couch, his face in his hands as he tried to calm himself. His shoulders were shaking from the adrenaline and excitement. Pretty sure his face was so flushed from the floodlights and embarrassment. It was like a button was pressed and he automatically went into overdrive and just let go. It usually happens whenever he got into the song he liked. Memories of his mother floated in his mind’s eye and instead of making him tear, they only gave him strength. He could still hear the echoes of everyone’s applause. It was astounding.

            The door opened and Aranea walked in with a wide smile on her face. Ignis looked up as she went and sat down beside him, slapping his back appreciatively. “I knew you could do it! You were amazing back there, Ignis!”

            Ignis took off the mask he wore and fetched his glasses with a nervous chortle. “It was but a simple song, Ms. Highwind, I—“ he exhaled. “I could not have done it without you.” The silver-haired woman snorted and nudged him at his side. Ignis gave a tiny yelp of surprise. “Oh please, you were more than enough of a blessed distraction. You should definitely do this more often.”

            The young man gasped, “I most certainly cannot! I cannot bring myself to let the kitchens fare without me—“

            “If you want, you can juggle between the kitchens and performances every other week, Ignis. What do you say?” came a deep voice. Both Aranea and Ignis turned towards the door where Weskham stood, his face as lit up as a merry June bug. “Everyone is very taken with you, as am I. They were clamoring for an encore, Ignis. We would like to have you perform with us—as Helios.”

            Ignis opened his mouth to retort, but he could only gape at the both of them like a fish out of water. This was certainly not how the night he expected to progress, however, the giddy, satisfying feeling was still there—and it was stubbornly nagging at him like a fly.

            One of the things that Ignis hated about himself was that he was a tad bit too curious a person. Curious of the opportunities he could enjoy in the place he considered his second home.

            He gave a tiny nod and _The Chamberlain_ got itself one of the best (and most mysterious) performers.

 

 

            It was another of _The Chamberlain_ ’s special Friday night performances, and Ignis needed at least half an hour ahead to sneak to the back entrance or else his preferred anonymity would suffer the wrath of the patrons lining outside.

            As if on cue, his phone lit up, indicating a message from Aranea.

 **Ms. Highwind (6.32 p.m.):** Ready to go, glasses-guy?

 **Ignis Scientia (6.33 p.m.):** Allow me to pack up and I shall be with you in a few.

 **Ms. Highwind (6.34 p.m.):** I’m beside the eastern gates.

            Scooping up his car keys and briefcase, he turned off the lights and made his way out of the office. Tonight’s lineup were a couple of F. Sinatra songs and one of those catchy weekly top songs slowed down (as per Crowe’s suggestion). It took Ignis and Aranea a week to try and cover the thing into an acceptable jazz rendition. Song covers were the heat nowadays it seemed. Inasmuch as Ignis hated running into these vulgar pop songs on campus, he knew that there was at least a percentage of their clientele up at _The Chamberlain_ that belonged to the younger demographic. And they were down for it whenever the masked Helios sang any of it onstage. Needless to say, their tips and suggestion boxes were brimming with notes and requests and the occasional fan letters for Ignis.

            It was breathtaking, to say the least; but Ignis kept them all—in a hardbound book in one of his shelves at home. It had been only a few months into performing then, however, he was garnering a couple of his own patrons. Ignis knew because it was always the same, familiar faces on the first row nearest the raised platform of the stage. He wasn’t wearing his glasses when performing; but through that slightly blurred haze, he could still pinpoint one of the more prominent watchers. A tall, long-haired blond individual in white coats and spats. Ignis would always catch his eye in between lines and the intensity of his stare would sometimes make Ignis’ stomach flip. He would stare back as deeply, though, and if he was in a good mood, he’d give a hint of a smirk—then the guest would flush spectacularly and drink from his third Bloody Mary for the night. He never got his name—although Ignis was positive Weskham knew who he was. His fashion sense was not exactly middle-class—and his choice of footwear looked like one of those expensive oxfords from Roen that Ignis always longed for.

            He wasn’t really into checking people out, but he liked to observe his audience.

            Still, he sang with great delight every performance night.

***

            Weskham slid a new glass of cocktail in front of the blond-haired individual up at the bar. The gent raised an eyebrow, “I did not order this, Armaugh.”

            “It’s on the house, Ravus,” Weskham chuckled. “You’ve been waiting here for quite some time.” The man called Ravus gave a non-committal shrug but took the proffered glass, nonetheless. “I like it here.”

“You like it here or you like _someone_ here?”

Ravus almost choked on his drink. He covered it elegantly with a well-rehearsed cough.

            Weskham gave a knowing grin and proceeded to wipe glasses. “You’re not the only one waiting on _him_ , you know.” He nodded his head towards the performers’ dressing rooms. Of course it was roped off as ‘off-limits’, but the regulars were always crowding there an hour before closing. “Helios doesn’t go out that way.”

            “You—“

            That got a deep, hearty chuckle from Weskham. “You know, for a Nox Fleuret, you’re certainly lacking a bit of backbone, Ravus. You know we accept any and all form of fan mail—“

            “That’s none of your business. It’s not like you inspect every single one that goes through,” Ravus scrunched his eyebrows as he took a sip, his fingers tapping in annoyance at the polished bar counter. “I am content as a regular spectator.”

            Weskham grinned, his monocle glinting in the subdued lighting. “I don’t read them. But Helios does share about them sometimes. All of his fan letters came from women, Ravus. He has yet to get one from you—“

            A hand slammed a little too loudly on the surface, leaving a couple of gil near the half-finished drink. Ravus stood up and grabbed his coat. “Keep the change.”

            The older man behind the bar shook his head fondly and bid the tall Fleuret a good night.

***

            Working six days a week was a staple for Ignis. He knew he was a workaholic—and his uncle had already scolded him many times about it. He tried to ease the habit off by being lenient about his own working hours at the Citadel and lessening his performances at _The Chamberlain_ to three times a month, but sometimes he just couldn’t let himself sit down and do nothing at home.

            Thus, the Saturday morning following his late-night performances at Weskham’s bar Ignis had spent it with cleaning his apartment. He was just assembling the trash bags to be taken out when he heard loud chattering voices coming from outside. Ah, it must be new tenants next door, Ignis mused. The landlord had given him a heads-up a couple of days ago about the only other vacant apartment on his floor being purchased. He could go out and greet them.

            Checking that his appearance on a mirror in his threshold was presentable enough (if you count his comfortable fluffy bunny slippers and wide-neck gray jumper), Ignis pulled up a few bags and opened the door to the stream of bright sunlight from the 15th floor balcony. It was almost lunch time. He had been cleaning for almost three hours.

            He stepped outside and turned to the left—and he was greeted with an eerily familiar back.

            One so huge and hulking, topped off with a long-haired, half-tied ponytail.

            Ignis dropped the trash bags.

            “Ah—hey, g’mornin’ looks like I’m your new neigh—“

            “Amicitia?”

            “Scientia?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helios - greek personification of the sun (i had to find something related to fire so here we are) 
> 
> Featured chapter song: [Georgia on My Mind](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xE_pbNQ6p0wl)  
> Art is by yours truly. I can start accepting requests in my [tumblr](http://ruiojousama.tumblr.com/)!  
> 


	2. Misery Loves Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New neighbors. New troubles?

            “Amicitia?”

            “Scientia?!”

            If one would count the birds chirping around the silence that dawned on the both of them, it was immensely comical. The two of them were staring open-mouthed at each other for a few seconds until a loud mewl from Gladiolus’ feet knocked them both out of their stupor.

            “Oi—Macaron—get back inside—“

            Ignis apprehensively eyed the fat grey and white Persian with a bell collar that walked towards him, bushy tail high up in the air. The cat walked around the fallen bags and started sniffing his legs. The ashen-blond young man took in a deep breath—trying to process the situation.

            “What a remarkably small world,” the words were spat out a tad too sarcastically, his green eyes darted around the cat prancing around his bunny slippers. Gladiolus huffed and crossed his arms, “Looks like I am far too late for a refund. I did not know the flat included stuck-up neighbors.”

            Ignis sighed and pulled back up the bags he was supposed to take out into the incineration chute. “What a shame, I got here first. One cannot choose his neighbors after all. But of course, you can always have your deal reassessed. I heard there are still vacancies up at the penthouse level—“

            “Yeah sure, I’d definitely like that,” Gladiolus scoffed, his huge chest heaving. Ignis tried not to stare at the tight pull of his muscles in his too-tight blue henley. _Astrals, is this what people wear nowadays? Two sizes too small shirts?_  “As long as you’re payin’.”

            “Oh? Can’t afford a bigger flat now, can we? I thought those lifetime’s worth of protein shakes could have cost more fortune than that.”

            “I’m not taking advice from a guy wearing bunny slippers.”

            Ignis cocked an eyebrow, but before he could retort, there was a subdued crash from Gladio’s hallway, a loud curse, and a spiky blond head popped out of the open doorway. “Hey, big guy I can’t find Coonie—did she go out—oh—oh— _OH—EM—GEE—“_

“Hey, Prom—what’s going on—there’s still a ton of boxes we need to— _shit_ —is that you, Specs?”

            Great. More company. Who knew their circles were getting smaller and smaller every day? Ignis felt his jaw tighten at the nickname. It was supposed to be just between the two of them whenever Noctis needed tutoring and help. And now other people knew about it. Gladiolus. The cat. And a random blond [student?]. Whoever he is.

            “Noctis,” he nodded at the dark-haired young man in greeting, biting the insides of his cheek to avoid looking too disappointed. “You look far younger with your hair down, Ignis,” Noctis Caelum grinned up at him, surveying the whole picture. “And I like your slippers. Where’d you get them?”

Ignis wished he could crawl back into his apartment and erase the whole day from his life. Of course, he would look remarkably different. No one at the Citadel (nor at _The Chamberlain_ ) had ever seen him without his usual spiked up bangs. Much less recognize him.

            Not anymore.

            For now Gladiolus, the director’s son, and a stranger were here to bask in all his house-mode and cleaning glory. And in bunny slippers, too.

            Well, okay, he had developed over time a soft spot for squishy and fluffy home collectibles (the knitted couch overthrow, the high-quality faux Garulessa carpet, his 1000-thread queen-sized bed, and the medium-sized Tonberry stuffed toy from his childhood were among the few). Not that he’ll let them know of course. Hell, Ignis would go down Costlemark dungeons first before he would give them the pleasure of confirming his preferences. The fluffy bunny slippers were from Nyx Ulric, one of _The Chamberlain_ ’s most famous performers, during their holiday gift giving the other year. Ignis slightly regretted putting “something soft and downy” in his wish list when Nyx had an indubitable sense of humor accompanied with his usual customary overly-zealous grin ( _Saw this at Altissia in one of our tours. They didn’t have pink in your size, so I got ya black. Sorry to disappoint.)._ Ignis wanted to slap the living daylights out of Ulric back then, but he reckoned he could extend a little bit more patience due to the holidays.

            Oh, Gladio would tease him endlessly about it.

            Ignis sincerely hoped they wouldn’t be immature and insulting about his predilections or else he might have to lie to the landlord why there would have been two [or three] dead bodies in the incineration chute on a perfect weekend. _Settle down, Scientia._

            “An acquaintance gave them to me from Altissia, Noct,” Ignis curtly replied. He turned back at Gladiolus, his lips tight like he had tasted something bitter. “Quite early for a housewarming party, are we not, Mr. Amicitia? But of course, what do I expect of incredibly adept social _behemoths._ ” The two younger boys stayed near the porch, watching. It was true that they had heard of the apparent contention between the two but they never witnessed it firsthand. Well, maybe not Noctis.

            There was one time Ignis went to his training sessions because the dark-haired young man forgot his revised papers and schedule (again) in his office. The bespectacled man was already cooking up theories in mind that the Citadel heir was doing this on purpose just so he could mother him more than what was necessary. Noctis did (low-key) like the attention he was getting for being clumsy and forgetful; for it proved an opportunity for Ignis to slowly lose his temper and just resolve to do the task by himself instead of leaving it to the boy. Regis trusted him with the kid and if Ignis had to spoil him sometimes to get the job done properly, he would. Ignis had arrived in the middle of practice unannounced, distracting a sparring Gladio which in turn got his ass handed to him by a very gleeful Noctis. Gladio grilled Ignis for breaking their momentum, though, but all he got was an upturned chin and a cocked hip saying, “I never knew you could be easily distracted Mr. Amicitia. However, I’d take that as a compliment. No matter how sordid your lack of focus was.” Ignis left the documents on one of the workout benches and walked out without as much as a backward glance. It gave Noctis stitches every time he’d tell the story to everyone who would listen; although he usually got an additional ten laps in the pool for it from his fuming, hulking Amicitia trainer.

Noctis was trying hard not to chuckle at how Gladio get rubbed raw live in front of him. The blond, who was hovering over his shoulder, looked torn between wanting to bolt out of the place and being curious at the exchange. “Are they usually like this?” the blond whispered to his buddy. “It’s usually worse,” Noctis grinned. “They’re worse than arguing married couples—“

            “Of course, being social situations is one of my charms. Just really a big concept for someone as cold as ya to handle. Why? You plannin’ on gatecrashin’?” Gladio snorted, flexing his muscled arms to his chest.

“Unfortunately, I have more pressing matters—“ Ignis rolled his eyes as he indicated his garbage with a slight nod of his head. “—to attend to than socializing on a Saturday. You would have to wait for my _welcome gift_ because I still have to dig through my trash again to look for it.”

There was a snarl. “Oh, by all means take your precious time. ‘Cos I’m pretty sure I don’t have enough space for something from yo—“

            Gladio was interrupted again as an abnormally loud purring resounded from Macaron. All four men gaped open-mouthed as she rubbed herself around Ignis’ legs, vibrating contentedly. Gladiolus’ amber eyes were round as saucers as he glared transfixed at his overweight cat being affectionate with his least likable person on campus. Ignis could not move from his spot either—he was too busy debating whether to kick the cat (lightly) away from him or put down the bags and hand her back to Gladio. He might be miffed at her owner but he wouldn’t hurt animals.

            There was a light clicking noise and both Gladio and Ignis snapped their heads to the source. The blond kid yelped at being caught with his phone and Noctis nudged him at his sides. “Prompto! Rude much?”

            “I-I’m sorry—Coonie looks so cute with mister head librarian I just can’t—“ the blond guy called Prompto sputtered as he tried explaining his actions. “I-I major in photography—and you guys look so cute it was just automatic—oh—my name’s Prompto—Prompto Argentum—Sir Head Librarian—Scientia Sir—I’ll delete the photo ASAP I’m so sorry—I—“

            Ignis watched surprised as the young blond kid stammer and fumble about terribly. _Did he just call him cute?_ The blond held out a shaky hand, waiting for him to reply. That was a lot of apologies in one breath—and it’s too early in the day to spread any more of his ‘evil head librarian’ rumors (Monica hilariously told him about it one time and he did well not to mind any of them). Gladiolus could grit his teeth all he wanted—the cat wouldn’t stop hogging his leg after all—and that alone already brought him satisfaction.

            “You’re a friend of Noctis, then? My pleasure. You can call me Ignis outside of the Citadel,” Ignis replied smoothly. “I would shake your hand, but as you can see, I’m immobilized and my hands are a little full.” He gave Prompto a slight smile and he inwardly chuckled at the dazed expression of the young blond (and Gladio’s peeved look). Prompto relaxed remarkably after that, even letting out a cheery laugh, “Nice to meet you, Ignis! I never thought to run into the Citadel’s greatest librarian!” he bowed a few times at Ignis before motioning to the cat. “Come on, Macaron, let’s get you back inside—“ He walked towards the Chief Librarian, trying to coax the fat cat out of Ignis’ fluffy slippers.

            “Sorry about the disturbance, Ignis,” Noctis said, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. “We won’t bother you too much today.”

            Ignis sighed, “No harm done, Noct. I’ve been through worse, as it were.”

            The cat was hissing at Prompto. She wouldn’t budge. It was weird. She rarely did that, the blond had muttered. Noctis motioned to the cat as well, holding out his hand, “Come on, Coonie, we shouldn’t bother Specs anymore. Come to us—“ The cat turned her head away and proceeded to settle into Ignis’ right pant leg, digging her claws into it. She looked like she wanted to climb him up. Ignis clenched his jaw tightly, immobilized like a brick. He instead threw his hulking neighbor a disgusted look that said, ‘irresponsible owner’.

            Gladio decided to step up. “Hey, Coonie, come to daddy—let’s not disturb the glasses guy anymore—“

            Even with her owner, Macaron ignored him. She did finally walk out of Ignis’ feet after a few moments, though, but she went towards a completely different direction.

Through Ignis’ partly open doors.

            Letting go of all pretenses (and biting his tongue to avoid smiling at Gladio’s crestfallen face), Ignis put down the bags unceremoniously and ran after Macaron before these people found an excuse to get inside his home.

***

            Gladiolus needed a beer.

            Or maybe a gin tonic. And some vodka.

            Heck, he was not expecting this turn of events on the day he moved into his new apartment.

            The Amicitia manor, no matter how huge, did not really count for easy accessibility to his workplace. There were times he needed to bring his work home and driving for half an hour (or more depending on the traffic) was a no-no for him. Iris was fine with it, for some blasted reason. She did not like the stuffy Citadel dorms—and would always have the energy to commute to and fro. Plus, Clarus, their dad, on certain times, would drive her home to and from work anyway. Gladiolus wanted his own privacy, so when he managed to save up for an apartment he grabbed all the available offers for affordable lodgings less than 15 minutes away from the Citadel.

            Which got him where he was now, on the same floor, next door to one Ignis Scientia.

            What were the odds?

            He knew Noctis was pretty fond of his new schedule minder and sometimes tutor (all thanks to Regis)—they could have their little homework sessions for all he cared as long as he was out of it—but now even his precious cat was trying to butter up to him?! Well, okay, Scientia running in fluffy slippers was pretty laughable enough. He could forgive Coonie for it.

            Ignis had come out of his apartment after a minute, carrying a purring Macaron carefully in his arms. He deposited her in Noctis’ waiting hands (with a little difficulty). “Sorry, Specs.”

            “She’s almost marked herself on my doormat—but she’s a pleasant feline nonetheless,” Ignis huffed and went back to the bags left on his porch. “Unlike her owner.” A smirk, and Gladio bristled irritably. “Oh! Let me help you with those—“ Prompto piped suddenly, grabbing already two of them. Ignis would have snapped, but he thought better of it and just conceded. “There’s an incineration chute just to the right at the end of the hall.”

            Gladiolus watched dumbly as the two walk away. Great. Wasn’t Prompto here with Noctis to help him move his stuff? Noctis put Macaron back on her kitty condo and nudged Gladio back to his senses. “Come on, big guy—Prom’ll be back. It’s not every day you see the infamous Chief Librarian like that,” he teased. “Specs is a nice guy, even though he might be strict at times. You should definitely get to know him.”

            “Yeah, right. As if that’ll happen.” Gladio scoffed. “Hah, you’re gonna be living next door to him. Whether you like it or not, you’ll get to know him,” Noctis chuckled as he got hit lightly in reprimand at the back of the head. “Less talk, more working, wuss,” Gladio motioned towards one of the boxes standing near the stairwell. “Come on, get those arms workin’. Count this as additional training.”

            Noctis scoffed, “Yeah, yeah, but you’re buying us pizza later.”

            “Whatever, Princess.”

***

            The short walk to the incineration chute was surprisingly pleasant. Ignis never realized that this Prompto kid’s jovial personality was contagious. At some point in the middle of walking, Ignis’s annoyance about everything else had dissipated. Where was the shy, stuttering kid from moments ago? He even went up and helped him with his garbage.

            “Thank you for helping me out. You need not to,” Ignis said, as he threw the last of the bags into the chute. The blond young man chuckled appreciatively. “I-It’s no big deal. You seem like a nice person! Plus I like to help!”

            Ignis lightly snorted. Was he ever a nice person? He’d like to think he was.

            _Oh._ He got an idea.

            Ignis pushed up his glasses and surveyed Prompto in front of him. “Do you have any food allergies?”

            “Oh! No, no, I have none,” Prompto answered, although there was a hint of curiosity in his purple eyes. “Why?”

            The older bespectacled man merely started walking back towards the apartments. “I wouldn’t be a good neighbor if I did not offer you boys refreshments, would I?” Prompto seemed to inflate at those words. “Really? OMG—you didn’t have to, Ignis! You might be doing other things!”

            “It’s of no consequence, Prompto,” Ignis replied calmly. “It’s thanks to you I am finished with my chores.” They arrived back at the apartment and Ignis turned to open his door. “I will be with you in a few, all right?”

            “Oh gee—thanks so much, Ignis!”

            “Just…do not upload any of the photos you took earlier today, would that be all right?”

            “Oh! No, no, no! If you want, I’d give you copies! Do you have a Citalife account?” Prompto asked, fishing out his phone. Ignis stilled at that for a moment. Well, being part of the faculty was a perk so he already had a safely-generated, even verified account; to avoid posers and students creating fake accounts of their professors and superiors. It’s a school-wide social media platform after all. He just had not activated it yet for public viewing.

            Ignis then remembered Monica telling him that being active on social media may lessen those bad rumors about him; although he really had no time to care about what others thought of him, to be frank. He minded his own damn business, thank you very much.

            But he was curious of how Prompto took his photos so he gave his work email instead. “Just send them to here for the meantime, then. I’d be happy to view how your photography skills go.”

            “You don’t have a Citalife yet, Ignis? Even Director Caelum has one!” Prompto smiled but saved the address Ignis typed for him in his phone. “Thank you so much again!”

            “Likewise, Prompto.”

            As Scientia closed the door to his apartment, he could hear the scuffle and muffled excited chatter next door. He proceeded to his kitchen. It’s time to shut that Amicitia up with some of his skills.

***

            “So how’d it go, Prom?” Noctis grinned as he plopped down on Gladio’s sofa, the last of the boxes finally shoved in the roughly bare apartment. Prompto’s smile stretched from ear to ear as he scooped up Macaron who was rubbing on his legs. “Oh gee, Noct, you wouldn’t believe how nice Ignis is!”

            There was a rather heavy _thud_ and a loud “FUCK” and the two students looked over to where Gladio was. He was biting his lip and skipping on one toe. “Ya okay there, big guy?” Prompto snickered. Noctis couldn’t help but grin even wider. “Did we say something troubling, Gladio?”

            The hulking man just threw a nasty look at them before pushing aside the box that he tripped on. “Very funny, you two,” Gladiolus growled. “Whatever, I’d go call us the pizza ya wanted.”

            “Alright!” Noctis cheered, putting up his socked feet on the couch. “Go get us the meaty supreme—“

            “Well, Ignis said he might be dropping by to give us a few snacks~” Prompto interjected. 

            Gladiolus turned around so fast his hair almost whipped up the side of his face. Noctis sat up straight. “You serious? Specs is gonna give us food?”

            The blond plunked beside Noctis on the couch. “Yeah! He said he wouldn’t be a nice neighbor if he didn’t get us something for all the trouble.”

            “You mean—get _you_ something. You’re the one who helped him with the trash,” Gladio snorted, crossing his arms. Prompto shook his head. “Nuh-uh. He said us ‘boys’. But maybe he might just be pertaining to Noct and me.” Then he burst out laughing. Noctis chuckled lightheartedly as well, “I hope he still has those tarts.”

            “What tarts?” Prompto asked. Gladiolus leaned on the breakfast counter, seemingly interested at the conversation. Maybe that pizza could wait.

            Noctis held out his arms to coax Macaron out of Prompto’s before continuing. “Well, sometimes he helps me with my schedule and some academics stuff, right? One time we were back in Dad’s office—Dad asked me to do some of his paperwork to ‘help me train for the future’—and I’m with Ignis for two hours and then I got hungry—I thought he’s gonna overlook it and continue working.” The cat stretched comfortably on his lap, Noctis proceeded to stroke her fur. “He stopped, took out his old man messenger bag and pulled out this tin can and offered me _tarts._ Those Tenebraean recipe ones. Man, those were damn delicious.”

            “Did he say where he got them?”

            Noctis pouted, “Nah, didn’t get to. I was so hungry by then I literally snatched the can from him. Kinda regretted not asking, though. Pretty much forgot about it the next day.”

            “Aw, now I’m curious,” Prompto smiled. “What if he does bring them later--?”

            “Now I’ll stop you guys right there,” Gladiolus huffed and waved his phone. “Are we getting that pizza or not? ‘Cos whatever that Scientia’s tryna offer—for sure it’s not gonna be that filling—“

            The doorbell rang.

            Prompto and Noctis scuffled from the sofa to get to the front door. Macaron hissed as she got disturbed from her idle lounging. She then pawed back to her cat condo. Gladiolus ran a hand down his face. _Seriously._

            Noctis opened the front door to reveal Ignis wearing an apron and carrying a food-laden tray. Prompto let out a dramatical gasp. “OH-EM-GEE, Mr. Scientia you’re the best!”

            Gladiolus could smell pasta and pesto from his place at the kitchen and he’d loathe to admit it but he was starting to salivate. The morning box hauling was indeed tiring after all.

            “These are a lot, Specs! Thank you so much” Noctis gaped at the huge bowl of chicken pesto pasta and a basket of warmed garlic bread. “How’d you cook so fast?”

            Ignis merely smirked. He could see Gladiolus’ figure peering a few feet away. “I like to prepare things up ahead—and warming them did not take so long. But please do take them off my hands. They are quite weighty.”

            Prompto and Noctis almost bumped into each other as they tried to carefully pry off the tray from Ignis. “Hey, Specs, you should come join us.” Gladiolus could not watch anymore. He walked over to the boys.

            “I’m afraid I still have a lot of things to finish today, Noctis,” Ignis simpered, green orbs finally meeting Gladio’s amber ones as he appeared flabbergasted behind the two. “I have yet to procure a _proper_ welcome gift but please do enjoy this little token for your housewarming.”

            Gladiolus stepped aside to let Noctis and Prompto set aside the food. He squinted at the smaller man on his doorstep. “How can I be sure you’re not trying to poison me, _Scientia_?”

            “Oh, goodness, I think we are past the formalities now that we are neighbors, _Gladiolus,_ ” Ignis said smoothly. “And poisoning innocent children is not my cup of tea. Maybe when you’re alone? I could slip some into your morning protein shake.”

            “HOLY SHIT GLADIO THIS STUFF IS GOOD!”

            Prompto called out from inside and Gladiolus felt a muscle twitch in his jaw. “I’ll be the judge of that, _Ignis._ ” And he shut the door to his face.

            Ignis simply raised an eyebrow at that but took no offense. After all, the kids appeared very much satisfied with the food he gave. And that exaltation from Prompto was enough to lift his spirits up for the day. No one has declined his pasta recipes _ever._

            It was great timing that he had so much noodle takeaways from _The Chamberlain_ the previous night. He only needed to warm them up in his microwave and whip up some easy sauce from his pantry. Plus, the loaves of garlic bread he had been baking the whole morning for himself while doing his chores had been done and he merely needed to slice and to serve them up. Good thing he had baked two.

            He walked back into his apartment with a smile.

            Ignis could not wait to see Gladio at his doorstep with his empty, washed bowl and utensils.

***

            In the end, they did not order pizza.

            Ignis had given them food fit for three people. How the hell did he have so much food?

            The garlic bread was soft and was deep fried the juices dripping from it were rich and flavourful. It complemented the lightly seasoned chicken pesto. Prompto was openly vocal about the food he kept making a mess on his lap. “I’m sorry, Gladio, I’ll clean it up later!”

            “Tch, you better be,” Gladiolus grumbled despite shoving forkfuls of the pasta into his mouth. He had to admit—this was plenty delicious. Were they really cooked? By _him_ no less? He was starting to think they were takeouts from restaurants. But he wasn’t stupid enough to judge wrongly about the bread—Gladio knew at least how to distinguish freshly baked ones.

            “Oh, Six, that was good,” Noctis let out a satisfied burp, as he pushed the empty plate away from him. “Didn’t know Specs could cook like this. Maybe I could get him to do more next time—“

            “Hey, don’t be scheming, Noct!” Prompto nudged at his side, but with a smile on his face. “But yeah, that sure hit the spot! Don’t you think so too, big guy?”

            Gladiolus jerked as he finished putting the plates into the washer. He did not want to admit it. Not really. He rubbed a hand through his locks. “If you guys are done, you can leave early. I still got a lot of stuff to unpack here. Thanks for the help.”

            Prompto grinned up at him. “Ho ho ho~ guess you enjoyed it too huh?” Noctis chuckled, “You do know your ears turn red when you’re embarrassed, Gladio?” Gladiolus scowled even more, trying to get his nerves together. Damn these kids. They always see right through him. Their families were close and they grew up together so they’d know his quirks the longest, despite being the elder of the two. “Whatever, wuss. Just mind your own damn business.” And he proceeded to tackle the nearest box, ripping the tape out.

            “Alright, Gladio. If you need any more help, give us a holler,” Noctis stood up from his seat, yawning. “Thank Ignis for us when you return his things, yeah?”

            Gladiolus stilled.

            “See ya on Monday, Gladio!”

            The door was shut, and Gladiolus cursed.

            He had to return the tray and those bowls later.

            He was sooo not looking forward to seeing his neighbor’s face again.

***

            After having his lunch, Ignis had proceeded to clean his kitchen and fold his laundry. Afterwards, he had sat in his room to fix some work emails and papers for the board of directors. By the time he was done, it was already dusk. Time really flew by when he was in his element.

            He took another coffee break while waiting for his bath to fill up. He did smell funky now after all the elbow-grease he had done. Ignis was the type to shower twice a day—once before going to work and another before going to bed. It usually helped him relax.

            With soft jazz music playing in his lounge, Ignis would take his much-needed soak and that would wrap up his activities for the week. He usually reserved Sunday for sleeping in and practicing some music. He hoped his walls were thick enough. He did not want to have a certain behemoth knocking on his door asking him to shut up.

            At first he wished for neighbors to at least quell the eerie silence on his floor (because he was alone in there); but he was starting to judge his own decisions. Ignis did not know Gladiolus that much yet—and he pretty much loved his living arrangements now so he hoped to not run into any trouble with the behemoth-next-door that would cause him to move away. But if Gladiolus were the one to move out—all the better for him, then.

            Once done with his bath and donned some of his worn tees, and very comfortable pyjama bottoms, Ignis turned on his television and proceeded to check his playlist of favourite movies in EoFlix. His hair was still dripping wet so he made his choice before walking to his fridge to check what he’d have for dinner.

            He had just finished pulling out ingredients for a simple soup when he heard his doorbell ring. Now who could it be at this hour? He slid the fluffy towel he used on his hair upon his shoulder before quietly walking towards his front door. Without staring through his peephole, he slid off the chains locking his door and pulled it open.

            It was Amicitia.

            And he had never seen anyone look so threatening in the shadows with his tray and bowls in tow.

***

            Gladiolus had put off returning the bowls the whole afternoon. He was still too antsy about the whole ‘new neighbor’ thing plus he did not want to look too eager returning the set. Ignis might assume he loved the food if he finished it quick. So he busied himself with taking out his clothes and gadgets from their boxes.

            When he finally got tired of it, showered and boiled water for a cup of noodles (he hadn’t done any grocery runs so he couldn’t make his quinoa if he wanted to), the realization hit him of Ignis’ kitchenwares sitting on his counter.

            Gladiolus sighed.

            Best be over with it.

            The bowls were heavy glass and he gingerly held them in his huge hands. At least there was a tray. He just hoped he wouldn’t trip and crash the damn thing.

            He managed to get out of his apartment and right down to Ignis’ door without much trouble. He used his knuckle to press the doorbell whilst holding the tray. It took him a few seconds before he heard the lock slide, the subtle jingle of the chain hitting the wooden door frame. It opened, and he was surprised at the sight that befell him.

            Ignis, fresh out of the bath, in a tank and— _are those silk pyjamas?_ There was a lingering scent of green tea and _Irish Spring_. He did not even bother to check if he were still wearing those fluffy bunny slippers (actually he was). Gladiolus strained not to look too curiously—but okay—he was not expecting Ignis to be _built_ despite being lanky. The tight strain on his tee were signs that he too did some exercises. Was he hiding this underneath those starched tops and blazers? It was a _good_ look on him.

            “Ah, the _neighbor-next-door,_ ” came the clipped voice. “Good evening, Gladiolus.”

            The bigger man huffed a little too annoyed at the greeting, and pushed the tray into Ignis. “Just came to return your stuff.” He shifted his footing, and tried to look intimidating (but failing). “And thanks.” He added hastily.

            Ignis raised an eyebrow but took his wares back from Gladio. “I take it you and the boys were— _satisfied_ —with your lunch?”

            “It was al’ righ’, yeah,” Gladiolus said gruffly. Ignis was boring daggers into his whole self. Why was he suddenly acting so awkward around this stiff-with-a-stick-in-his-ass librarian whereas he was so confident over him back at the Citadel? “The boys said thanks before they left.”

            “Ah, is that so? Noctis could have messaged me—“

            Gladiolus saw the victorious smirk curving up the other man’s lips and he wanted to smack his gloating face—if he did not look so weak and naïve with that wet hair and fluffy towel on his shoulders…

            “—but you are welcome.”

            Gladiolus merely grunted and proceeded to turn back to his apartment. “Seeya at work.”

            “Have a good night.”

 

            Gladiolus shut his door a bit louder than usual, shocking his cat out of her slumber. She meowed annoyed at him before jumping off the cat condo onto a nearby armchair.

            “I bet that’s just a mask,” Gladio snorted. He went to his kitchen and tore open a pack of cup noodles. But seriously. He should not be surprised because he had already seen Ignis with his hair down earlier in the morning. He was even wearing fluffy slippers by the Six! What made him question his judgment?

            Or maybe it’s because of his tastes in partners?

            Gladiolus had suffered an ugly breakup five months prior—exactly during the Freshmen Night his sister was so obstinate in teasing him about. His ex (who had applied for a transfer away from the Citadel after that) had looked remarkably similar to Ignis when he saw him at the door—lean, but built—with an angelic, handsome face. Not that Ignis was angelic! No, hell no. After-shower looks were a weakness of his—and by Ifrit’s flaming balls Ignis was the least of all the people he’d see like that.

            But he _did_ look like that.

            Gladiolus slurped his noodles grumpily.

            All of these surprises, including the pasta lunch, were slowly starting to make cracks in his observations about the Chief Librarian. He hated it when his hunches were proven wrong. It’s not fair—

            It’s not fair when someone who’s stuffy and sassy and strict could have a side like that.

            Physically, at least.

            He was still sassy with him when he returned his kitchenware anyway.

            Gladiolus finished his light dinner and threw the empty cup into a bin. It was still day one. He’d see how things fare with his new neighbor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me some time to update this one, but thank you guys for sticking around :)


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